The Woodland Prince :
It is a curious truth, that so many years before the coming of time, there were great legends. All the legends include royalty, princesses being saved by handsome, godly princes. But do tell----when have any of the princes done anything other than living happily ever after? This particular prince came to me in the form of a moor boy, tousled and carefree. His name was Dickon, and I thought him as nothing more than a poor boy who worked with his hands in the dirt. I met him when I had begun to not dislike life so, and began to enjoy its sounds and sights, and yes, even tastes. His sister, an unruffled, good-natured thing, sent a letter to him inquiring about the seeds and gardening tools I wished for. In a heavily wooded area, he was waiting, with a royal air in his woodland realm, among his good creatures.
He had smiled curiously when I had entered cautiously, into his domains, and had introduced himself in such a normal, boyish way that I had to smile. The weeks drew on, and I found he was not what he looked. I thought him before as a servant boy, but he proved to be my companion, someone to trust, and dare I say it, a friend. He showed me the secrets of his kingdom, the beauties he sees through his eyes, and the meaning of life. This wonderful fairytale of a boy taught me to laugh, and to smile, to care, and lastly, when the years sailed on and he grew into a remarkably handsome lad and I a lady, to love. But I am rewinding the grandfather clock in my study too fast, and the golden day is long, so we have time for my tale.
Dickon, the homely cottage boy, was the very first real person I had ever confided in. I told him eagerly of the garden I had found, and of the robin who had showed me the way. He listened with such eager intensity, his large, round blue eyes full of wonder. His eyes were a beautiful blue; much like as if the great heavens above the moor had decided to drop two hued pieces of itself into Dickon's eyes. The garden was our special place, it was full of magic and life, and above all else, miracles and friendship. For the cold, icy-hearted little girl from India, for a boy whose hopes and dreams had all dried up and crumbled away after years of being told he would become a cripple, and for the angel-like boy whose heart was as big as the sky above the moor.
But the moor boy knew not that the magic was all his own doing and that he taught me to love and Colin to believe. As we grew on, Colin became famous for his unwillingness to give up, and strode on, unfaltering, until he became a doctor, complimented on studies, and found a sudden cure for a bone disease. Dickon grew into such a well-known person for founding the Animal Rights Association, but was unbidden to all that he could gain. He built his own cottage on the moor that he had grown up on, so that through the changes, he could still lift his face to the sun, breathe deeply of the gorse and heather growing wild on the moor, care for the Lost Ones as he called them fondly, and enjoy life itself, undisturbed. I myself wrote stories of my life, and of miracles, and of the memories stowed away deep in my heart…memories of my little woodland prince.